


The Beach, Boys

by dark_roast



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-14
Updated: 2006-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_roast/pseuds/dark_roast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gia, Logan and Weevil cross paths on Dog Beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beach, Boys

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Writ on Water](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/1630) by Sexycereal. 
  * Inspired by [Fragile](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/1631) by Bennet_7. 



> Rated R for language.  
> SPOILERS for Season Two, especially "Not Pictured" (takes place during the summer)  
> This story was inspired by something I mentioned in my own story, Stay the Night, as well as Sexycereal's _Writ on Water_. (I hope she doesn't mind me borrowing Logan's brand-new green surfboard.) Also, go read Bennet_7's _Fragile_ , because my fic kinda works as a sequel to hers... although that happened by accident.

It isn't sneaking out if no one cares she's leaving. It isn't sneaking out if her mother is asleep, and Gia's been awake all night. Technically, that's leaving without waking anybody up. That counts as being considerate.

Gia sleeps during the day, because that works out better. Falling asleep to daylight, waking up to daylight, panicking a little if she opens her eyes and the afternoon light is already slanting and golden, sinking into blue summer twilight. Only an hour or so, and it would have been fully dark. Night would have fallen across the tall iron gates, crept thief-sneaky past her father's state of the art security system without a blip, and found her asleep in bed. Covered her like a vampire's cloak. Anything, anyone could steal up so very close to her while she sleeps, and lay one hand over her mouth to stop a cry. Shh, baby. Everything will be all right. I promise.

It isn't sneaking out if her mother swallows tranquilizers and sleeps around the clock, and Rodney has been bundled off to the grandparents in Minnesota, because he's too young to understand. Gia asks herself why she wasn't bundled off somewhere. She doesn't understand either. She's never felt so dumb in her life.

Nobody notices when she leaves. By five in the morning, the news vans are gone. All the juicy stories wrap up around two or three a.m. Who knew? The reporters and the camera crews go back to their own houses and their own beds, and they return to Gia's house later and later with every passing day. The Goodman family is less and less newsworthy. The most interesting member of the family died, and he's staying dead; sorry, no comment.

Gia wonders if her mother will kill herself out of sheer humiliation. She can't really care right now. She is wrapped in a deep, warm blanket and nothing much gets through that's not dim and filtered. She knows this is called shock, but it's the wrong word. Shock is an icy shower. Shock is a hard, stinging slap, and shock hasn't arrived yet. Shock is fashionably late, but it did RSVP, so she knows it's coming. Veronica Mars would have something biting and clever to say about that. Veronica would put out fancy napkins and a bowl of Chex party mix. Veronica seems to thrive on disaster like a wiry wildflower pushing through concrete, but Gia isn't that way. She isn't sassy or scrappy or strong. She isn't her daddy's girl.

She slips out of the house before sunrise, drives to the beach and sits on the sand. She watches the rhythmic crash and roll of the waves, the surfers bobbing on their boards, held in the palm of the dark water like Ann Darrow in King Kong's hand.

One morning, a boy comes out of the water in a black wetsuit, padding up the beach dragging a surfboard, and as he moves closer through the brightening day, Gia realizes the boy is Logan Echolls. She thinks about saying something, but she can't think of anything to say. He makes an interesting collection of shapes. Dark suit, brilliant green surfboard, little fin on the back drawing a straggling, emphatic line in the sand behind him, map of some other world stamped in wet sand and seaweed across his legs and torso, one flick of hair falling on his forehead.

He stops walking when he sees her. The two of them look at one another.

"Hi," Logan says finally.

"Hi," Gia says.

"I have watched you on the shore," he tells her. "Standing by the ocean's roar."

"Isn't that the Beach Boys?"

"All my best material is stolen."

Gia sinks her fingers into the cool sand. "The bottom of your board is getting scratched. Maybe you shouldn't drag it around."

Logan checks for himself and nods slightly, satisfied by what he sees. "I'm building its character."

He stands with her, both of them gazing out at the water, at the other surfers floating on their boards. Everybody else feels sorry for Gia and sends flowers and casseroles to the house, and gets really creative at coming up with ways to avoid her. Gia has trouble imagining that Logan likes her enough to feel awkward around her. But, he isn't busy finding an elsewhere to be, the way he usually does. Maybe he doesn't want to be by himself, either. Whatever the reason, she's grateful to him.

Footsteps come crunching across the sand. Another boy from school comes toward them, his white tee shirt glowing in the gray-pinkening light. Gia recognizes him, but she can't remember his name. She's seen him talking to Veronica, but mostly he hangs out with those bikers, and the rough looking kids from Shop class. He makes a bee-line for Logan, head down and fists balled at his sides, his boots puff-puff-puffing up sand as he comes stomping over. Gia feels certain this boy will just haul off and pop Logan.

"Hey!" he barks. " _Pendejo_ , how many times I got to tell you? Keep your pasty oh-niner ass off my beach!"

Logan smiles. It's not the sarcastic smirk she's used to seeing. This smile looks genuinely pleased. He calls back, "You got up early and came all the way out here just to tell me to fuck off? I'm touched, Weevil."

Weevil halts a few feet from Logan and folds his arms, corded with muscle and covered in tattoos. "Surf decent?"

"No. It's shitty. As always."

"Feel free to go anyplace else. Please."

"And miss out on annoying you?" Logan presses one hand to his chest, a horrified expression on his face. "Perish the thought."

"Echolls, you are so gay."

"Finally. An expert opinion. Enjoy your two weeks in Chino?"

"All your husbands kept saying how much they miss you."

"That's so sweet. I've really gotten behind on my conjugal visits." He covers his mouth with one hand. "Oops. No pun intended."

Weevil's scowl dissolves into a grin, and he ducks his head. That's when he gets a good look at Gia, sitting in the sand half-behind Logan's surfboard and trying not to make any sudden movements. Weevil's face goes suddenly serious, like he's been caught laughing at a funeral, and his eyes widen. Now he recognizes her. She not some random beach bunny. She's the Infamous Daughter of Woody Goodman. His expression softens. She would kill for his eyelashes. Seriously, she would.

"Hey," he says. Gently; curiously.

"Hi," Gia replies.

"You're the, uh..." he tries, then runs one hand over the back of his shaved head.

"It's okay," Gia tells him. "Nobody knows what to say. I sure don't."

"I hate this fucking town," Weevil announces gruffly, and Logan lets out a startled laugh.

They trade a look. Weevil holds up his fist.

Logan taps it with his own, then turns to Gia. "You never saw this. It never happened. Got it?"

"Sure," Gia says. As always, she's mystified by guy-to-guy code.

Logan picks up his surfboard. "Okay, enough with the awkward moment. I am an FBI agent!" He sprints to the shore and hurls himself into the water.

Weevil plunks down on the sand beside her.

"I'm Gia," she says. "Except... well, you knew that already."

"Yeah. I'm Weevil. Eli Navarro."

"Which one?"

He shrugs. "Either one."

"Were you really in prison?"

Weevil laughs. "Just a hint; that's not the best 'get-to-know-you' question."

"I'm sorry. I'm usually a lot better at small talk."

"S'okay. I don't blame you for being off your game, considering. So, how do you know Gidget?"

"Logan? He was in my Journalism class," Gia replies.

"Ah."

"He's a very interesting person."

"That's one way to put it."

Gia wraps her arms around her knees, hugging them. "I think he's going to be a famous writer someday."

_"Echolls?"_

Gia nods. Logan meanwhile, is paddling out past the breakers, his bright green board cresting and vanishing.

"You like him?" Weevil asks.

"He seems like he's difficult to really get to know. What do you think?"

"I don't think about him that much."

"Guys are like that, I guess."

"He'll break your heart," Weevil says.

Gia turns to look at him, surprised.

"You can do better. Echolls belongs with some sixty year-old cougar who chain smokes and wears White Diamonds. He told me that himself."

"I don't actually like him that way," Gia says, alarmed by the mental image of Logan as a kept man; in her head he's Joe Gillis, floating facedown in Norma Desmond's swimming pool.

"Never mind, then." Weevil looks amused at her expression.

"How do you know Logan?"

"Long story for another time. Like when I'm not sober."

They sit silently for a moment, Gia sifting sand through her fingers.

"Where should I go?" she asks him. "You don't want oh-niners on your beach. What's another good place?

"Aw, no." Weevil turns to her, a frown creasing his forehead. He really is adorable. Strange how lately, most of her thinking gets tangled up in a tight, knotted ball inside of her, while this thought flies through her head just fine. He adds, "I was just talking. Even Echolls knows I don't mean it. Most of those oh-niners don't deserve a stretch of sand and good waves, but Logan's okay. And you're okay. You're sitting here talking to me like a normal person, not like I'm some rabid dog you're afraid is gonna bite you."

"You're not treating me like that, either."

"Why would I?"

Gia looks down at Weevil's boots, scuffed black leather caked with wet clumps of sand.

"Because of your dad?" he asks. "I don't know what to say to you about that, because... what _can_ I say? I just know sometimes it helps to sit around and have somebody distract you with stupid stuff."

"I don't think you're stupid."

"Yeah, but how am I doing with the distracting?"

"Not bad, so far."

"Good. Well, look. This beach needs more pretty girls, so you come sit here whenever you want. Nobody's gonna bother you; I'll make sure about that. All right?"

"Okay."

"All right," Weevil says again, as if this settles everything.

Gia brushes off her hands. "I didn't used to come here at all. But since my dad... died, and everything... I don't sleep very well at night. I like to come out here and watch the ocean. It's always here, and it's always the same. Everything else can turn upside down and inside out, and the sand will still be here for me to sit on. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah. I know exactly."

Logan, far out from the shore now, suddenly springs up onto his board in a crouch.

Gia grabs Weevil by the arm. "Oh, look!"

They both watch as Logan catches the swelling curve of the wave. Having passed over many, he has finally found the one he wants, and he rides it, cloaked briefly by the curling, crashing swell of water, emerging on the other side. The wave tosses him off his board and he vanishes under the water. Gia jumps to her feet. Weevil stands up also, and then Logan breaks the surface, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes.

"I thought for sure he was going to drown," Gia says.

"Nah. He's too stubborn."

A few minutes later, Logan comes trotting up to them, hauling his board, soaking wet, the color high in his cheeks. "Did you guys even watch me, or were you too busy making sweet, sweet love with your eyes?"

Weevil glares at him.

"No, we saw you," Gia says, a little breathlessly. "You're really good!"

"Pansy-ass excuse for a sport," Weevil grumbles.

"Are you going out again?" she asks Logan.

"Nope," he replies. "Tide's turning. I'm going back to bed. See you in the funny papers."

Logan continues on up the beach toward the yellow Xterra sitting in the parking lot, dragging his board behind him.

"Half the time, I don't even know what he's talking about," Gia sighs.

"Stop listening. Works for me."

"You don't surf, I guess."

"No," Weevil tells her disdainfully. "I ride a motorcycle." He sticks his hands in his pockets. "You could ride with me sometime. If you want."

"Really?"

"Sure."

"You're not just asking because you feel sorry for me?"

"I feel sorry for all you oh-niners. Especially the _chicas_. What with that sad, sad dating selection you got. At least you're smart enough not to go after Echolls. So? You gonna let me keep on distracting you?" He makes a juggling motion with his hands. "Yes? No? Take the cash, go for the curtain -- which one?"

Gia smiles at him shyly. "Yes. Please."

"Ah-hah. I was wondering how I'd get you to do that," Weevil says.

"To come riding with you?"

"No." He reaches out and chucks her lightly under the chin. "Smile."

THE END


End file.
